


plaisir

by aischrolatry



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Experimental Style, Explicit Language, M/M, Name-Calling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aischrolatry/pseuds/aischrolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Be <i>polite</i>, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and smiles. It is thin-lipped, narrow-eyed, and vicious. “Say please, won’t you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	plaisir

**Author's Note:**

> written while I was terribly sleep deprived so I don't know if this makes sense, but I sort of like it (maybe bc I am still sleep deprived)

Finger-deep and steady; Oikawa breathes in and Iwaizumi pants out, spine arching like the overhead pass he likes best. _God_ , Oikawa thinks, tongue thick and dry.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says, quiet enough to disguise the trembling in his throat. He tries again: “Okay,” he says, lotion sliding down his thighs and disappearing into the folds of his black boxers, peeking out from under the curve of his butt, “one more.”

Oikawa’s tongue, too hot against the chill of the room, traces his lower lip. It catches onto the skin, too dry to agree with his owner’s wishes, but Oikawa is nothing if not stupidly stubborn. He swallows, forces another mouthful of saliva, and finishes. Begins as well, slow and careful.

Iwaizumi goes taut with the third knuckle, rough-skinned hands gripping at his bed covers. Such a good boy, Iwaizumi is, always with his bed done and his room clean -- Oikawa shifts, rumples the bedding, feels sickly satisfied. The sound Iwaizumi makes, a thing full of breath and gritted teeth, mirrors the emotions inside Oikawa, and he thinks, _god_ , and opens his fingers just so.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi groans, pressing the back of his head into his pillow like he wants to vanish into it. “Fuck,” and it’s the second most beautiful thing Oikawa’s heard him say. He pushes in, crooks a little, and Iwaizumi’s throat is bared, his adam’s apple bobbing. The name he calls out is silent, but Oikawa hears it anyway, and grins down at him.

“Ah,” he sighs, leaning over because he can, “so pretty, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s stomach ripples, then stills - a knot of muscle ready to undo itself. Oikawa straightens his fingers, tipping him away from orgasm, and grins at the exhalation, full of steam and frustration.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Iwaizumi says, pink-faced and bright-eyed. Oikawa licks at his upper lip, shows him the exact degree of control he has over his own tongue, and then leans back, sits, and waits. Iwaizumi’s thighs are glistening, his dick is twitching, and Oikawa drinks the moment, savors it. His mouth is wet again.

“And waste this chance? No way, no way,” Oikawa replies. “After Iwa-chan’s parents so graciously decided to take a trip with the neighborhood’s--”

“Shut - up - “ Iwaizumi grits out, flushing redder.

“And after Iwa-chan so graciously invited me over to -- “

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cuts in, the heat in his eyes flashing a scalded warning. Oikawa recognizes it, and pulls back graciously, accepting temporary defeat.

“Mm?” he asks, syrupy and innocent, but crooks his fingers again, presses them deep and wide and Iwaizumi’s back goes likes this: tense and trembling and then curling into itself, the ridges of sturdy ribs greeting Oikawa’s eyes. _God_ , Oikawa thinks, voracious, _god, yes_ , and keeps at it until Iwaizumi’s toes follow the rigid motion, until Iwaizumi’s all but drooling on his pillow, eyes lidded and unseeing.

“Ah,” he sighs, and adds: “this is how I like you best,” without meaning to. Iwaizumi’s eyes roll back before he can close them, teeth as white as his lower lip when he bites down. It’s not a complete truth - Oikawa likes Iwaizumi best as he is, as he exists, not just volatilely emotional and finger-fucked. As he cuffs Oikawa on the back of the head, as he swallows down tears, as he makes promises, as he pushes, and pulls, but never lets go.

“That’s enough,” Iwaizumi breathes, from behind the crook of his elbow, and Oikawa realizes he’s still knuckle-deep into him. Realizes he’s forgotten to breathe. “Just,” he mutters, and leans a knee against Oikawa’s side.

Oikawa complies. If only to peel Iwaizumi out of his underwear, as damp as it is dark; if only to revel in the shiver that runs across his body when he pulls his fingers out of him. But he doesn’t acquiesce in full. _You’re only into it for the chase_ , Iwaizumi told him once, after Oikawa’s sixth girlfriend, and only now does he know that it is not the chase he craves. It is the right prize.

“Just, what?” he asks airily, setter’s hands burrowing into the firm flesh of Iwaizumi’s thighs, bringing them up and around his own hips.

Iwaizumi’s hand closes into a fist, white-knuckled.

“Don’t fuck with me, jackass,” is what he replies, a little out of breath. His legs are twitching still, and the head of his dick is as bright as the inside of his thighs. Oikawa palms his cock and twitches, offers a gasp that sounds like Iwaizumi’s first name.

It is frustrating enough that Iwaizumi’ arms shoot up to grip at Oikawa’s hair, but it is an old move, rusted by years of friendship, and Oikawa avoids and counter-attacks, hands twisting around powerful wrists and slamming down.

“Tsk, tsk, Iwa-chan,” he reproaches, cocking his head. Iwaizumi’s face reddens under his eyes, that hot gaze like a slap. Oikawa lets it hit, nearly quivering under its weight, and doesn’t even waver when Iwaizumi tries to buck him off. “That’s no way to talk to your most precious person.”

“You’re disgusting,” Iwaizumi replies automatically, force of habit, but his eyes are dark and his breath is stilted, and Oikawa grins with all his teeth, savoring the anticipation.

“You should be more honest,” he replies, and leans down to suck at his neck. It is winter but Iwaizumi is still brown, still warm, and Oikawa could just sink into him and believe summer has returned. He doesn’t. He bites the words he wants to say into the lean skin of his collarbone and only stops when Iwaizumi rubs his dick against his thigh.

“I--fuck--I swear to god--”

“Be _polite_ , Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and leans back, hovering above him and instituting a type of control that could be broken so easily. Then, when Iwaizumi’s eyes are on his (and only then), he offers a smile. It is thin-lipped, narrow-eyed, and vicious. “Say please, won’t you?”

And that’s when the heat truly spreads into the pit of his stomach; when Iwaizumi’s face twists into realization, into remembrance. _God_ , Oikawa thinks, and grinds down on Iwaizumi’s open legs, opening them, feeling the twitch of his dick against his.

Iwaizumi remains silent. Oikawa gives him time, pulling hickeys out of him at a leisurely pace, pushing dampening boxers into bare flesh. Iwaizumi trembles beneath him, eyes closed and mouth open, and Oikawa is patient when it counts, but not today. Today, he is selfish, if only because he knows Iwaizumi will allow it.

“Come on, Iwa-chan. It’s easy,” he murmurs, teeth closing around the shell of Iwaizumi’s ear. “Like this: please, Tooru,” and he’s not even done before Iwaizumi bites down a groan and ruts up into him, “fuck me.”

“Fuck off,” Iwaizumi manages somehow, garbled and thick.

Oikawa clicks his tongue, leans back to watch his face.

“No, Hajime,” he says sternly, and Iwaizumi nearly comes undone at the sound of his name, the muscles of his stomach all twining and stilling and Oikawa nearly lets him, but then - “I said  _no_ , Hajime,” and Iwaizumi closes his eyes, bites down on his lip, and remains grounded.

“Please,” the other boy breathes, looking absolutely fucked out. Oikawa sighs, then, the arousal blooming across him like a field of flowers. “Please,” he says again, for good measure, even though the second time is but a whisper.

“Gladly,” Oikawa whispers back, and slides in with the ease of an old lover. Iwaizumi’s back arches, his mouth opening with a sigh, his legs tensing around Oikawa’s stomach. His knees press into Oikawa’s ribs when he bottoms out, strong enough to make them ache, but Oikawa barely feels anything other than the warmth and wetness, the rippling shivers. “Mm,” he says, obscenely tracing his lip, “Hajime, you’re so good to me.”

Iwaizumi groans out something that sounds like a swear, blunt fingernails tracing the curve of Oikawa’s shoulders and finishing on his elbow. A good sign-- a great sign-- and Oikawa’s hips shudder into him, disagreeing with the self-afflicted wait. Iwaizumi’s throat is an angled thing, bobbing and bared. His dick is wet and rests neatly into the lines of his abs; Oikawa presses his thumbs into his hipbones to get a grip on something and drives slow.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi gasps, back arching and hands fisting in his sheets. His beddings wrinkle beneath them, and Oikawa loves it, always has - because he’s always been the cause (be it childish wrestling or senseless fucking). “Fuck,” Iwaizumi gasps, and it is glorious, so Oikawa fucks into him without meaning to, hard enough that they both slide up the bed. Iwaizumi’s palms smack against the wood of the headboard, flat and quick, and Oikawa takes the opportunity to lean over him and spread his legs wider.

Predictably, Iwaizumi reddens, his face twisting with an embarrassment he will forget about in minutes; Oikawa grins and brings a hand to his mouth, a thumb pressing into the soft flesh of a lower lip.

“Hajime,” he breathes. Iwaizumi’s eyes close at the same time his mouth opens, the wet slide of his tongue a reprieve to too-hot fingers. Oikawa shudders, holding back giddy laughter (it has been sadly proven Iwaizumi doesn’t like it when he laughs during sex), and slams his hips into Iwaizumi. “You’re so good, Hajime,” he says instead, leaning down to lick a flat stripe down his neck.

It strains beneath his tongue, all muscle and tension and salt, so Oikawa bites and devours the sound Iwaizumi makes. It is sweeter than any other thing he’s put in his mouth, which, considering its intangible state, is actually quite wondrous.

“So good,” he repeats, because he knows how it makes Iwaizumi come faster than a blowjob, and Oikawa is good with his mouth, be it at verbal praise or sucking Iwaizumi off --

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi groans, between Oikawa’s fingers. He pulls them out, grabs at the sheets instead. “Fuck, Tooru--”

“Mm,” Oikawa replies, mimicking a patience he doesn’t feel, and circles his hips into Iwaizumi, striking a nearly-there spot inside him that never fails to steal desperate pants out of his mouth. Suddenly, he wishes he’d eaten Iwaizumi out, wishes he’d sharpened his sensitivity into a needle’s point, because the last time he had Iwaizumi’s legs around his face he’d called Oikawa by his first name an astounding number of seventeen times (a personal record).

It doesn’t matter now, he supposes, and grinds down. Iwaizumi’s neck shifts, his collarbone casting shadows, and he moans, deep and long, trying to catch the orgasm that Oikawa dangles out of his reach. God, Oikawa thinks, leaning back to see, god, I love him, and then decides to say it aloud: “God, I love you, Hajime, I love you,” and Iwaizumi comes untouched, stiffening in Oikawa’s lap and just absolutely making a mess of himself.

Oikawa doesn’t quite manage to hold onto his previous plans of composure; he comes, too, though it’s decidedly less visually arousing. His toes curl until they go numb, but Oikawa’s eyes are on Iwaizumi for as long as he manages to go without blinking, taking the sticky drips of cum sprayed across his chest, the glazed wetness in his eyes, the red flush across his face.

“Iwa-chan,” he breathes, grinning and not quite able to stifle down post-coital giggles, “Iwa-chan, you’re so obscene,” and Iwaizumi’s still catching his breath, his mind, and doesn’t manage to summon the strength to hit him. “So dirty, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa goes on, “I’m so glad I’m the only one who ever gets to see this side of you.”

Iwaizumi goes ever redder, but only covers his face with his arm, still shuddering.

“Fuck off, asshole,” he says, hoarsely, and Oikawa can’t help the barrage of ecstatic snickers that break out of his chest, despite knowing Iwaizumi will most definitely get revenge later.

“Be polite, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, half-laughing, and Iwaizumi pushes him off with a glare, that stubborn expression soothed by the pink color of his skin. “You should always say please! Or didn’t you get the lesson I tried so hard to teach you?”

“I’ll kill you,” Iwaizumi shoots back, still blushing. He leans over to grab tissues from his nightstand; Oikawa stares at his ass without shame.

“And I’ll let you,” he quips, a truth cruelly stripped of its weight, and leans over him again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ps: we need more bottom Iwaizumi in our lives


End file.
